The morning after the party, I tried to convince myself it hadn’t meant anything.

That the feel of Maya’s thighs trembling under my hand, the way her body melted into mine in that hallway, the way she came moaning my name—it was just the alcohol. Just a mistake. A one-time thing.

But I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.

Worse, when I walked into the living room that afternoon and saw her curled on the couch in one of Ethan’s shirts, her bare legs folded beneath her, ...